Simon and Baz Preincarnates
by SimogenPitch
Summary: #NormalAU. Simon and Baz reimagined before the end of the Roman era. Well, before the eruption of Vesuvius.
1. Chapter 1

**Baz**

"Get to work boy! Stop idling, you good for nothing, lazy little tramp" I jump, startled out of my day dream and pick up the amphora I put down only a moment before.

"Yes father." realising my horrible mistake I manage to stammer out, "Sorry, sorry, I meant yes master."

"You little swine-herd, you don't deserve the bread you eat." My father-come-master slaps me across the face. I touch it gingerly, I should have seen this coming, I should have had my guard up. He leans in, until only an inch separate us, until his putrid breath is all I can smell, all I have ever smelt.

He whispers, barely audible over the pounding of my heart, "I keep you here of my own free will, pay for your food, your clothes, and how do you repay my kindness?" He crescendos to a yell, still with barely an inch between us, spittle flying, "You slack off, eyeing off every creature that comes through those gates!" Here he points towards the locked and barred gate, giving me a moment's reprieve. "If you like us that much, I'm sure a brothel would take you, although your ugly mutt wouldn't return enough for your keep."

"Yes master, sorry master." I try to keep my head high and walk away the victor, but my voice betrays me, quivering at the last second. I hitch up my tunic, made from course brown sack-cloth, so unlike the outfits I wore as a small-child, shift the amphora and walk off to the kitchens.

Halfway across the cobbled courtyard I stumble on the uneven ground, sending laughter rising from the gateway. Startled I turn, unaware that anyone else was within the open space. Standing in the middle of the gateway, wrought iron gates thrown open behind him carelessly is Snow. My cheeks blushing the darkest red, so much so that they feel as though they are on fire, I scramble upright, pausing only to check that the amphora is still in one piece and dash off to the kitchens before I can embarrass myself further. I have always been awkward around other boys you see, mostly because I do not understand them. They have always seemed rather foreign and attractive, like moths around a flame.

Lost in my own thoughts for a moment, I arrive in the kitchen, where a strong female voice brings me back to the real word. "Where have you been boy? I needed that wine half an hour ago."

I manage to bluster out, rather hastily "Sorry cook, I really am. I put down the amphora for a moment so as to avoid dropping the thing and father started at me." Embarrassed and ashamed, I turn my gaze to the shining floor. Cook Esposito prides herself on the cleanliness of her kitchen, which unfortunately results in hours spent scrubbing everything in sight.

"Look hear, my dear boy. You should know by now that your father will jump on anything that you do wrong." She say kindly, pulling me into her arms, "Since your mother's passing he has only become more prone to grumpiness and anger. Ah, Snow, back already? I hope you managed to get everything I asked for."

"Yes cook, and more besides." Seeing a questioning look spreading across her face, he goes on, a wry smile creeping across his lips "You see, I know that you have a taste for the dried fruits from Macedonia, so I got you a small gift." Holding out a small cloth bag, he gestures for her to take it. "Baz, I saw your tumble in the courtyard, I hope that you are not injured, it looked quite nasty."

"You mean you saw me fall and laughed in my face. You should be ashamed of yourself." I spit back at him, my voice deadly. Snow turns and leaves at this point, frustration showing across his face. I turn back to Cook as she starts to speak.

"You should not be so mean to him, he is only trying to be nice. I remember when your father first bought him, it was Snow this, Snow that. Every second word that came out your mouth was Snow. What has happened between you to make you so hateful now?" She grabs my cheeks, peering directly into my face, as if she is trying to peer into my soul.

"Nothing, other than I have discovered his true nature." What I really want to say is that I have become subtler, I want to confess everything, to get it all out, to be free. I don't, though, for this would result in my being thrown out of the house and being left on the street, separating me from the last remnant of my mother.


	2. Chapter 2

**Snow**

As I walk away from the kitchen, wishing that my most secret of wishes had not been crushed once again, I cast my mind back to my first week in this god-forsaken place. I was barely fourteen, still but a child, recently orphaned and alone in this world. I had been captured from my homeland and brought across the sea to this land, where I was sold like cattle. Baz's father, curse his soul, bought me, a skinny weakling, for only one denarius.

That first week, where I was still coming to terms with my new life, Baz followed me around like a lost dog. It grew rather irritating, until, one day, he just stopped. I have always wondered why he stopped, just when I was warming up to him. It almost felt as though he was stopping himself, forbidding himself, from being around me.

I reach the outside door, startling me back to the present with momentary blindness caused by the golden afternoon sun spilling over the roofs of the buildings. Glancing around, I do not see any members of the household that have authority over me, so I stride around the courtyard towards the servant's sleeping quarters, which are little more than dark, damp cells. I enter the building and find my room more by muscle memory than anything else- the candles are not allowed to be lit before sundown and the hallway is dark even then. Stretching out my tired muscles on my bed, I tell myself that I will only sleep for a moment before surrendering myself to exhaustion.

I wake briefly in the middle of the night to the sound of sobbing coming through the thin walls, the sound oddly unsettling, before drifting back into the calm of sleep. In the morning, I wake to a face of freezing cold water. Shivering I climb out of bed, glaring at the whiskered face of the butler, who is holding another bucket over my head. "I'm up, I'm up, you don't need to waste another bucket," I mumble.

"What was that, boy?"

"I'm up, don't waste another bucket," I say overly clearly.

"Get a move on then, you're on kitchen duty today. The master is having a feast for the local senator, and Cook's already panicking."

"Okay, I get it, I'm coming." He leaves the room half a sand-glass later I hear the splash of another bucket emptying. I stand up and stumble down the hall to the doorway and look-out at the growing splash of light on the early morning sky. I stand for a moment before crossing the courtyard to the kitchen. Halfway across the courtyard, the earth begins to shake gently, continuing for about a sand-glass before subsiding.

"It's going to be one of those days," I think, not bothered by the occurrence. Tremors are common in Campania and a small one like that would not bother any local. I enter the kitchen and am absorbed in the work for a couple of hours until, at the morning meal, the ground begins to shake again. This time it barely starts before it stops again, but once again no-one is really bothered. We finish our food and get back to work, scrubbing dishes and floors, washing the cushion covers and preparing food.

The day passes quickly, peppered with small tremors, and soon the master's guests are arriving, draped in the swaths of woollen cloth that make a toga. Eventually, I spot the senator by the wide, coloured stripes on his toga and the coloured shoes adorning his feet. The inundation of guests stops and we close the gates, providing extra security for our honoured guests. I am sent back to the kitchen after this task, where Cook sets me to work scrubbing the terracotta caccabi, caked with remnants of porridge and meats.

Tales trickle in of the meal above, servants bring stories down with every emptied plate. After a particularly large quake, the repeated tale is that of the Senator having been shaken out of his recliner and falling, face-first, into the convenience amphora. We all have a bit of a chuckle at this, but Cook orders us back to work before we can get completely distracted. By the time the last guests leave, a lively pair of high-born youths, we are all exhausted and no-one needs to be told to go to bed.

We are all shaken awake several times during the night and every time I hear prayers muttered to Neptune and Somnus. By morning slight cracks have appeared in the walls and ceilings and many of the poorer dwellings in the city have collapsed. There is a long queue by the servant's shrine, with everyone trying to appease the gods. Over our morning meal, we are told that everyone is to begin packing all the valuables in the house.

I begin work in the bedrooms with many of the younger slaves. We prepare any transportable valuables for travel. I walk into the master's room and find Baz weeping on the floor. "Ahem," I mutter, "Are you okay?


	3. Chapter 3

**Baz**

Snow strides into the room, he's always striding with those gangly legs, and finds me in pieces on the floor. I've just found all of my mother's jewellery, still smelling exactly like her, and it has brought back all my love for her. "Ahem," he clears his throat, as if I didn't already know he was there, "Are you okay?"

This takes me wildly by surprise, I was expecting some rude comment, me being a man and crying like a little girl. I remember that I have convinced myself that he is horrible, not that he really is. "Ye-Yes" I snuffle, "I've found my mother's, my late mother's – Pluto save her, jewellery. I thought my father had gotten rid of it." This causes a massive sob to erupt from me, stopping me from blubbering more.

Snow surprises me further by kneeling by me and placing a hand on my shoulder. "I know how this feels, hey, hey, look at me. I know how you are feeling. My family died of fever when I was but a boy, I only survived because this old crone took me under her wing."

This surprises me, I thought that his whole family had been taken by the slavers. "No, no, I'm being silly." I wipe my eyes rapidly several times with the cuff of my sleeve and take an almighty breath, cutting a sob short.

"It's perfectly fine to feel this way. You don't need to be sorry. She was your mother!" he says, surprising me further.

"I know, I know. Umm, would you mind helping me to pack this up?" I ask, sucking in great lungsful of air as though I haven't breathed for thousands of years. We work side by side in silence for hours, cleaning and packing. The silence is only broken by the prayers filling the air after the night of quakes. Every time the earth shakes these prayers grow louder, as if yelling them out will appease the gods, not anger them further. We stop briefly as the ground shakes, often destroying much of our work.

When the midday-meal bell sounds, we rush to the kitchen and are split for the rest of the day. I serve the meal before returning to the packing while he ends up in the kitchen, scrubbing pots and pans. I finish up in the master's room and continue to the study, cleaning as he visits the temples, praying to the gods. I am finished when he returns. He comes to the servant's meal room, where we are eating an early meal.

"Who cleaned and packed my study?" he roars from the doorway, making us all jump. "Well, who was it?"

I raise my hand, "It was me, master."

"I should have known that it was you, my meddling, good-for-nothing son." He grabs me by the ear, dragging me outside, to the whipping block. "I left specific instructions for it to be packed last of all. Last! So, imagine my surprise when I come back from praying for your life, for ALL our lives and find it not only packed, but much of my money missing!" He throws me onto the block and goes for the whip, but finds it gone.

"Who moved the whip?" He whispers, before yelling "WHO MOVED THE WHIP!?"

"I, I think it may have been packed," I whisper.

"What was that? Packed! I asked for valuables to be packed, not whips!" He yells, kicking me in the back before stalking off to find the whip.

I take my chance and run to the safety of the servant's quarters, knowing that my father, the master, will never tarnish his reputation by being seen exiting the servants' quarters. Even so, I hide, whispering prayers to all the deities. The last of the daylight has been shaken from the sky when I finally re-enter the world. I walk to the kitchen, hoping that the evening meal has not taken place. I walk in and find no-one. The kitchen fire, the glowing coals around which the household is built, has been put out. I run to the servant's tables, the master's dining room, the bedrooms. Still no-one. It's as if the whole household has vanished.

I run outside, searching for anything that might tell me where they have gone. Hunched over and panting, I see the gates flung open. I dash out and see a crowd gathering in the marketplace. They are listening to a speaker. A speaker that I know. I move closer, trying to work out who it is. Slowly, and then all at once, I realise it's Snow. He is standing over a cowering lump of fine cloth. Is it my father? Snow is speaking about his cruelty. He is saying that this man is a coward. I realise that he is talking about me, to me almost. My heart opens, and all my built-up hatred melts away like butter.

He kicks him once more, and then leaves the stage, striding back towards the house. Grinning, I call "Well done chap, well done!"

He looks at me with something extra, something new in his gaze. Almost a whisper, almost under his breath, he says "I did it for you. I did it all for you. But it won't change anything, tomorrow will be just the same. He'll just hate me like he hates you." His face darkens, sorrow clear upon his face, "I, I just couldn't stand it any longer. I can't hide like this, can't be like this."

We walk into the servants housing in silence, emotions running wild between us. He gazes into my eyes, saying something about a better world. A world where there is less prejudice, a world where anyone can love anyone, where class systems are abolished, where everyone is free. Something cracks in my heart, and deep down I know that he is a revolutionary. I know, at that moment, that I love him, and that I will never deserve him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Snow**

I wish he could know how deeply I feel about him. I wish that our world was not so prejudiced. I wish, above all, that I could have him, or that I could be his. I don't say this though, I don't say anything that I mean to. I just keep waffling on about a better world. The earth shakes, more violently than ever, and I stop. We watch as part of the roof cracks and falls in. My hand finds his and squeezes. I hold my breath, realising what I've done.

After what seems like an eternity he squeezes back. I exhale, and, seeing cracks appearing in the ceiling above us, drag him outside. The doorway groans and partially collapses behind us.

"Thank you, just, just thank you!" he breathes in my ear. "You have saved me too many times today."

I lead him over to the wall and press him into it with my mouth. He pushes back and together we dance. I have just slipped my hands behind him, pulling him into me when his father walks through the gateway. I hadn't noticed that the world had stopped shaking, hadn't noticed that people were returning. I drop my hands and pull away, not wanting any more trouble. He turns, and seeing his father staring, steps away, head down, tail between his legs.

"And what do you two think you're doing?" a voice booms out across the courtyard. "Was that whole scene a ploy to get me away from you?"

"No father, it, it just happened." Baz tries, before stating, more strongly than ever, "I can't help what I feel, and you can't stop me feeling. You have taken everything from me, but you can't take this. Whether you want to or not, you can't control how I think or feel."

Having said his piece he turns to leave, but finds no shelter for the doorway has now almost fully collapsed. The master dashes across the courtyard and grabs him by the ear, dragging him towards the whipping block. He throws him down and reaches for the newly found whip.

"No," I whisper, aghast, "No! You can't do this. You can't!"

"You think you can tell me what I can and can't do, eh? Well, I ask you this, do you want to take his place?" he sneers back at me, showing his revolting teeth, his true nature obvious for all to see.

"Yes. Yes, I do!" I stare at Baz, cowering from his father's arm, and, voice full of passion, state, "I will take his place! Not because I want it, for I am not a glutton for punishment, rather because no-one should have to suffer like him. No-one should fear their father; their patriarch, more than they fear death itself." I walk to the whipping block and kneel at it, pushing Baz of off it.

"You don't need to do this" he mutters, both to me and his father.

"No, I do need to do this. Someone needs to stand up to the leaders in this world, else they will become corrupted. They will become like him." I respond. Baz's father hears this and begins his reign of tyranny on my back.

"You. Will. Not. Insult. Me. Like. This. Again." He grunts, sending the whip whistling through the air and cracking it against my back in time with his words. "You. Will. Never. Hu-Mil-I-Ate. Me. Again!"

I move in rhythm with the whip, tensing during the whistle, relaxing after the crack. I refuse to plead for mercy, refuse to give him that pleasure. This pain is all I've ever known. All that I will ever know. I taste my blood in the air. He stops talking, and I realise that he has run out of things to say. I stop listening for the whistle, stop hearing the crack. My body knows the rhythm now, it does not need the audible clues. It feels like an eternity has passed. An eternity in a single second. An eternity in every second.

He misses a stroke, and then another. My body keeps tensing and relaxing even after he has stopped. I climb back out of my head, out of the reality that I built in between strokes. The pain strikes me like a racing chariot and I sag momentarily, adjusting to this new load.

"...enough now. You've caused him enough damage. If you keep going you'll kill him." I realise that Cook has stepped in, has saved me from the bloodied whip. She walks over to me and helps me upright, supporting my right side with her left. I look around for Baz and can't see him. Anger rises in my throat, I saved him from this fate and he can't even watch.

Someone lifts my left arm and wraps around their neck. I look over and see Baz. All I want to do is kiss him, kiss him and interrogate him. I settle for slouching slightly, trying to pacify my back. All it does is accentuate the pain. He looks at me, looks through my eyes and into my soul. He leans in, I think to kiss me, but instead, he whispers into my ear, lips brushing the tingling surface.


	5. Chapter 5

**Baz**

"I am so sorry. I am. I'm a coward. You didn't need to do that. You don't deserve this, deserve me. That should have been me. I do deserve this. I tried, he wouldn't listen to me, he just kept beating. I had to run and find cook" I whisper in his ear, my lips too close to his face, so close that I can't help it. I can't stop myself. I kiss him and he melts into me. I melt into him. We become one, breathe as one. At some point, Cook slips her arm out and returns to the kitchen. We stand there, one whole being for the first time in our lives.

Eventually, he sags and I remember that he is bleeding, that he is in pain. Likely agony. I walk him to the back-door of the servant's quarters, my arm around his chest. He goes inside and lays down on his bed. I don't trust him to be alone, to survive if he is alone and I need him now. I am relieved when Cook walks into the room with a bowl of vinegar and a small bottle of milk of the poppy.

Snow winces through the vinegar before taking a good swig of the milk of the poppy. The painkiller leaves him blissfully happy but terrible to talk to, so I just sit and keep watch. I end up spending all night in his room, keeping vigil. Every time that he so much as winces from his back I dose him up with the painkiller.

I must have eventually dosed off, for the next thing I know is that it's morning and the butler is making his morning rounds with his trusty bucket. I gaze over Snow's ruined back, guilt stabbing at my heart. He must see me looking, for he says with a cheeky grin plastered across his face, "Oh cheer up, it's not as bad as it looks, trust me. If only I could lay on my back, we'd have a great time." He tries to sit up, cracking many of the hastily formed scabs. He groans, "I take that back, it is as bad as it looks. Probably worse than it looks. I think that I'll need a good lot of sympathy."

"Well good luck getting that. I don't anyone around here who would give you any sympathy." I answer cheekily. At this moment, the butler walks in.

"I hope you're not giving Snow any cheek, young Baz."

"No, of course not. You know me, when have I ever given anyone cheek?" I respond.

He simultaneously chuckles and sighs, saying "That's quite enough of that. Cook wants every fit and able person ready to unpack the house and restock the cupboards. The tremors seem to have stopped for now, so it's business as usual. Apparently, the cupboards have become quite run-down over the past couple of days. Now I'm sure that your father has left instructions for you two not to be left alone, but I think that Cook has other plans."

He walks out of the room as I give Snow the bottle of poppy extract. This time he only takes a sip before pocketing it. "That should do me for a while now," he says, "Or at least long enough to find something less hallucinogenic."

I help him upright and together we hobble out to the kitchen, where Cook has already started her morning. She sees us come in and calls out to us, "You boys are on shopping duty. And Snow, put a shirt on before you go down, I want you back before midnight."

We stay in the kitchen until she finishes talking, collect our baskets and set off down to the markets. The stalls in the new markets are crammed in very tightly, barely leaving enough room for the crowds that converge every day to get where they need to be. Each stall seems to be piled higher than the last with produce from all over the empire. One stall has many amphorae full of wine from the vineyards on the lush slopes of Vesuvius, the one next to it is sporting dates from Egypt and coriander from Greece. We walk towards the docks, starting with the fresh local fish found there and slowly walk back.

Reaching the docks, there is a strange smell in the air, rather similar to rotten eggs. This scent continues through the market and stall-keepers can be heard discussing the source. We have almost reached the end of the markets, arms loaded with everything that could possibly be wanted by the household in the coming days when the ground begins to shake. The stalls collapse around us and the bustling marketplace turns chaotic, prayers filling the air. The shaking grows more violent and these prayers turn to screams.

I pull Snow under a nearby upturned table and we shelter beneath it, riding out the storm. The sound of the markets crashing down around us is deafening. We see people's livelihoods roll past us, get stuck in the emerging cracks in the pavement. The livestock from a nearby stall has been set free, their cages destroyed, and it runs past. The violence of the quake begins to recede, yet still the smashing of bottles can be heard. The earth stills, and we climb out from beneath our shelter. All the stall-keepers are frantically trying to collect their wares from wherever they have rolled or run off to.

We collect our purchases and run back to the house, the possibility that it might have collapsed in the forefront of our minds. Panting, we reach the walls surrounding the house. We peer inside, hoping that our shelter still stands. Luckily for us, it does, but many cracks have appeared upon the walls. We venture inside, our rapid breathing the loudest sound in our ears. The kitchen door creaks open and we see the scared faces of all the servants peering out.

"Oi, you, get in here now!" A voice bellows from within.


	6. Chapter 6

**Snow**

We walk over, and upon entering the kitchen face a barrage of words, of questions, from the servants and the other slaves. We take a breath, preparing to start when the master's voice cuts through. "This is your fault. All of this is your fault. The Gods obviously disagree with you silly pretenses, your fanciful romance."

The room falls silent, breaths held in, not a muscle moved. Everyone waits for our answers.

"If we are to blame for these quakes, these tremors," I start.

"We are not to blame, father," Baz corrects me, "For if we were then the quakes would have started yesterday. For all we know the Gods are protesting your cruelty. I cannot talk for the Gods, for I am but a man, but I would suggest that throwing blame will not make all right. Perhaps, instead of fearing their wrath and trying to appease when we do wrong, we should do only as we see right, only as will benefit all, not just ourselves."

The room collectively begins to exhale, which is cut short by the master. "Pfft, you think that doing well will end their reign of terror? You think that the world is a good place. You are not so smart after all. The world is not fair, the Gods do not care what good we do. We cannot please them, only save ourselves from their wrath."

I step in here, sensing where this may be leading. I cannot take another beating like yesterday and I cannot wish one upon Baz. "If I might offer my opinion here, I would say that cowering inside and blaming will not save us. Instead, we should go outside and rebuild our world, or better still, rebuild a better one."

The master turns to me, his face bristling with anger, "No, you may not offer your opinion. I thought that yesterday would have taught you a lesson, but obviously not. I cannot make this any clearer. I do not care about you or your opinion so SHUT UP!" He yells, before turning to the collected mass of servants. "Get to work! I want to eat before Apollo lets the sun set."

Baz and I sneak out of the kitchen door as he says this and run to the servant's quarters. We find a bucket and mop and start to clean up all the dust that was dislodged by the quake. We clean into the night, not bothering to eat. When the others start to come in we retire to our meager beds, bodies, and minds exhausted.

We are woken before sunrise by screaming, screaming unrelated to an earthquake. The entire servant body races outside, bottlenecking at the doorways. Outside the air is full of smoke and that odd, rotten egg smell from yesterday. We stare up at the mountainside, illuminated by fire billowing out of cracks in the ground, as it drifts in and out of view. As we stand ash begins to fall around us, almost as snow would fall. The sight is simultaneously horrifying and beautiful. People are crying or just standing agape in the street.

Eventually, Cook ushers our disintegrating mass inside, claiming that it will 'all be right as rain in morning'. I do not know whether people actually believe her or just do not want to believe that this is happening. We gather in small groups in people's rooms, talking and gossiping. I find Baz and sit next to him, eventually reaching for his hand. He seems to be one of the most upset about the occurrence.

We sit there, comforting each other until a dim, red-tinged sunlight fills seeps into the room. At this moment the master walks in. "Get up, stop gossiping like girls." He says, "I need to leave, you need to pack me two bags of gold and then pack up the house."

We jump up and leave the servant's quarters. The fact that the master came in means that something really terrible must be happening. The courtyard looks like a snowstorm has hit it. Ash has piled up a foot deep and the tracks of people who have crossed it are clearly visible. The air is still smoke, and a glance up at the mountain shows that it is still in its fiery state. We push through the ash, compressing it into a hard rock-like material, rather similar to compressed snow.

At the house we rush around, filling bags and packing as quickly as we can. We know that as soon as the master leaves we cannot be kept here. We fill the two bags easily and bring them to the master. He congratulates us, in a roundabout way, for our quick work and asks us if we would like to come with him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Baz**

I can tell that Snow is about to answer for us, about to cut our only route to safety and in my heart, I still want to believe that my father is a good man. I blurt out "That, uh, that would be great."

Snow gives me the evil eye, obviously knowing something that I don't. And then it hits me, my father would never save us willingly, he must have a plan for us. Maybe he is planning to leave us at the boatsheds, leave us to perish. Snow starts to say "No, no, it's fine, we wouldn't want to slow you down."

"Wonderful, wonderful. I just need to get something personal, we will start in a minute. You two can carry the bags, get yourselves loaded up and we will go." The master says in answer to my statement, completely ignoring Snow.

It is almost midday by the time we leave, for my father couldn't find what he wanted. It turns out that we had already packed it. Just as we are reaching the market place, my father collapses. We try to wake him, but to no avail. I fear that he is dead. Not long after the ground begins to shake more violently than ever before in recent times. As the ground begins to shake we hear a noise like an explosion, as we look around in panic, it strikes me that the top of Vesuvius is missing. The steepest, highest slopes have completely vanished. I cannot dwell on this too deeply though, as Snow is dragging me off of my father.

"We have to get away. We have to leave." He whispers urgently. He kicks my father's body

"Where can we go? There is nowhere to go." I respond, turning around to catch one last glimpse of my father, the man who brought me into this world and made it into a living hell.

"We have to go to the boat houses, down by the water. There will be boats there, we can escape by water."

At this moment burning hot ash and small stones begin to fall from the sky. He starts to run towards the water, pulling me with him. I hadn't even noticed that he had taken my hand. We run through the burning rain, run to the only safety we can think of. We reach the boatsheds and find many people there, but no boats.

We crowd inside, Snow asking about boats, me asking whether everyone is okay. It is too crowded in there, so we go outside, trying to hail a boat. I turn around for a second and gasp. A wall of ash and stone, an avalanche of fire is rolling across the town. Tugging on his sleeve, I say, "Snow, Snow look. Oh my gods, oh my gods, look."

He turns and see the wall, sees our impending doom, and pulls me into the most passionate kiss that I could ever imagine. We stand there, not caring about our impending death, just two boys in love. He pulls away for a second, gasping for air. "I'm sorry, I just needed to do that again."

"Shut up and kiss me," I whisper into his ear, pulling him back into me. We are still in this embrace, still pushed hard against each other when the avalanche hits. It burns against us, boiling us within our skin, but still, we do not pull away, we do not flinch. In our last moments, we are one being, one whole person. Our flesh burns away, but our last moments are encased in stone forever. We skeletonise, but our outlines at the moment the avalanche hit are preserved forever.

In many years' time, when they rediscover Herculaneum, when they excavate the boat houses, they find us clinging together. They will assume that I am a girl, that we were a young couple. "Ah, young love." they will say. They will name us the young lovers and take our skeletons away to a cold dark room. We will sit there until someone rediscovers us, looks carefully at our skeletons and thinks that someone swapped my skeleton. An investigation begins, for there cannot possibly have been open homosexuals. They cannot possibly have been more forethinking, more progressive, more accepting than us, they will say. And they weren't.

But we were.


End file.
